Bittersweet Dewdrops
by Hope is in Pandora's Box
Summary: Gil has a tough life. Juggling three jobs, his wayward brothers, his addictions, his missing ex-girlfriend, an annoying cop, a malicious drunkard, etc... it's like the world's out to get him. To think—one girl, one grande vanilla latte, one smile—could change his outlook, if only for a moment. AU, Gil x OC. WARNING: T for cursing, drug use, homosexuality. Don't like, don't read.
1. I

_**GIANT MEGA-HUGE WARNING: THIS WAS PREVIOUSLY RATED M, BUT LORD KNOWS I'M NO JUDGE OF WHAT "TEENS" CAN HANDLE. IT DOESN'T REALLY SEEM THAT ALL THAT BAD... BUT IF YOU KNOW BETTER THAN I DO, SPEAK UP AND THE RATING WILL CHANGE. THANK YOU.**_** 3**

**I**

Every day, Gilbert wakes up at 5:24 AM. He doesn't fully understand why he sets his alarm for such a random time. He figures it's because the unorderliness of his wretched life could only be balanced by a routine that is equally as unorderly. Little does he know, his life, despite its insanity, is dictated by the hands of the clock, which steadily tick onwards to the time of his beginning.

By 5:31 AM he has thrown on some clothes; a fresh white shirt, pitch-black jeans, a pair of Converse. Nothing special, and certainly nothing new. Then at 5:32 AM he is in his bathroom, prodding numbly at his disheveled raven-black hair. Leaning against the sink, he stares momentarily into the mirror at his own lifeless olive-gold eyes, which are yet again weighed down by heavy dark circles. He didn't sleep last night either. He had that dream... the one where she was there, calling out to him, desperate to... to what? He couldn't quite recall... the crimson-robed figures swarming them, and then the knife, the blood—

He turns the cold water on full blast, splashing it onto his face with such roughness that it soaks through his clean shirt. Droplets fall from his hair to the waxy tiles on the floor. He tries to remind himself; it wasn't his fault. Everything that happened that night wasn't his doing. Although the police might not believe him, he knows he couldn't have been the one who took her away. He'd never do that to her.

At 5:42 he exits the bathroom, realizing he is behind schedule. He peers into his brother's room, which is not surprisingly full of hard liquor bottles and plastic baggies with the white powdery evidence of cocaine, all empty. But Vincent is nowhere in sight. Sighing, Gilbert realizes he must have snuck out again last night, and is probably curled up in some park, sound asleep. He'll have to look for him later this morning. Grabbing a trash bag, he gathers up the evidence of his brother's sickening lifestyle and carries it to the kitchen with him.

It's 5:48 AM, and Gilbert is finally brewing his coffee. While he waits for the black liquid to drain through, he takes a seat in his living room, cigarette in hand. Lighting it, he sucks on it for a long, slow drag, and disperses the smoke from his lungs into the room. It was a habit he really needed to break. She'd tried to get him to quit countless times, and he'd complied with all her little plans, however ridiculous they might have been. But he'd always turned back to the nicotine in the end. "Weak-willed", she would call him. It was so true, even now.

A sharp rapping on the door roused Gilbert from his nostalgia. 5:54 AM. Staring dumbfoundedly at his watch, he wonders who it could be so early. Could Vincent have stumbled all the way home on his own...?

As he slowly opens the door the hinge squeal in protest, complaining of their overuse. The visitor appears to be Gilbert's brother, but not the one he was expecting. Actually, the complete opposite; he wasn't expecting to see the figure in the doorway until he was on his deathbed, and maybe not even then.

"Elliot...?"

Icy blue orbs glare daggers into the doorframe, neatly avoiding Gilbert altogether. "Dammit, Gil, just let me in."

Gilbert quickly steps out of his way. Clicking his tongue, Elliot storms past him into the apartment with not so much as a _thank you_. "Your building is trashy," he mutters tartly instead.

"I know..." Gilbert sighs, taking a moment to study the view outside his window. It's the same intersection of 12th Avenue Southwest and the constantly busy Holden street. Home sweet home to perverted hobos who follow schoolgirls home and the hoards of foreign children who think dodging cars is a fun idea for a game. "But it's all I've got."

Elliot pauses to absorb that before clearing his throat. "I didn't come here for idle chit-chat. I—I need... a stick of butter. Get one for me."

It takes everything Gilbert has to keep from chuckling. Elliot was always the worst liar. Not to mention he was their father's successful son, the one who inherited the fortune. The one with the expensive castle-sized house in West Seattle, and the one funding another condominium project along an open stretch of Alki beach. The likelihood of him needing something as commonplace as a stick of butter was very low.

For this reason, Gilbert raises an eyebrow skeptically. "Do you really?"

By the pout on Elliot's face, it would seem that he knows he's been found out. The blue-eyed young man crossed him arms, almost looking defeated. "Okay! That's not why I really came."

"Then why did you come?" Gilbert asks, shifting uncomfortably.

"I... I wanted to tell someone, and there's really nobody else..." Elliot finally meets his elder brother's gaze. "I met someone, and he's a really great guy—"

At this moment, Gilbert remembers his coffee in the kitchen. It's 6:09 AM, and it's been done for six minutes. He runs to take care of it.

Elliot follows him, frustrated to be so obviously ignored. "Gil! I was talking to you, you know! Don't ignore me!" He pauses to inhale deeply. "I know you can't accept that I'm gay, but you'll just have to—"

"Don't you get it?" Gilbert roars, unable to hear his younger brother's petty speech again. "I don't give a damn that you like guys. Shit, I wouldn't give a damn if you were in a sexual relationship with a microwave! I just..."

Icy blue orbs bore into olive-gold ones, dancing with all the fires of Hell. "You just what?"

Gilbert exhales loudly, searching for the right words. "You always get yourself hurt in the end. I just wish you'd have better judgement..."

"Leo would never hurt me!" Elliot screeches, tugging violently on Gilbert's shirt collar.

"That's what you said about the last three guys! Those bruises didn't come from pillow fights!" the elder retorts.

Elliot shoves him away, unable to meet his brother's gaze. "I should've known you'd react like this..." he whimpers nearly inaudibly.

Gilbert tries to reach out to his younger sibling, realizing he's gone too far. "Elliot.. I'm..."

"No!" Elliot shouts, slapping his brother's hand away. "Don't touch me! It's not any of your business anyway!"

With that, the blue-eyed eighteen-year-old takes his leave, slamming the door so hard it rattles the entire building.

Gilbert sighs loudly. This happened often lately, the last of said incidents being close to eight months ago. Elliot was being abused by his beloved boyfriend Humphrey, but he was completely blind to it. Purpling bruises had covered his body so entirely, he'd looked like a Smurf. But Elliot would insist he deserved the punishment.

_"When I do bad things, I must suffer the consequences,"_ he'd say, a sickening smile upon his face.

Finally, Humphrey had hit Elliot in just the right spot to send him to the hospital. He was on the verge of comatose when the doctors came to Gilbert, asking if he'd known if his younger brother was subject to abuse. From there, the police got involved, and Humphrey went straight to state prison, where he belonged. But Elliot could not forgive Gilbert for what he'd done to his lover.

_"Everything was fine! Why did you have to involve yourself?"_ Elliot had screeched between sobs. _"I didn't even get to say goodbye!"_

No 'thank you for saving my life, Gil'. That was just the way Elliot did things.

Gilbert's watch read 6:14 AM. He'd have to leave now if he was going to look for Vincent and catch the right bus to work. He pours the cooling coffee into a Thermos and stuffs it into his North Face backpack, along with his papers and books for work. With a flourish, he shrugs on his long black trenchcoat and heads out the door.

_-end-_

**This plot bunny has been eating at me for some time now. I planned to make this a bit longer, but I wanted a quicker response from the general public. *cough cough THIS MEANS YOU cough cough* :3**

**All the places I describe here are real. I know the Seattle area like the back of my hand, and I thought it would be a great place to have poor Gil's hellish life in modern society.**

**Next time we meet our crazy police officer and find out who "she" is, if you hadn't already guessed! Stay tuned, and R&R~!**


	2. II

**And so, another chapter. This is a surprisingly difficult story to write...~ Ah well. It will get done one way or another.**

**Hey, a shout-out to my awesome (not to mention only...) fan, Fanatical Alice! I am so grateful to have an audience. :D**

**II**

Gilbert checks his watch again. 6:21 AM. One minute to leave his building, four waiting for traffic to clear on Holden Street, and two more to walk the remaining block to the park. He's making good time, but not quite good enough. His bus comes at 6:42, and he mustn't miss it. It's the only bus that will make the forty-five minute journey to his workplace by the time his shift begins, and it wouldn't do to get scolded by Reim again.

He plants his feet firmly in the dewy grass, gaze locked on the horizon. From this exact spot, one could veiw the Seattle skyline in its entirety, each building climbing so desperately to reach th height of the glassy black Columbia Tower, glistening in the rosy dawn. And not too far from the clustered buildings was the city's crown jewel, the Space Needle, with all the appearance of an futuristic, anorexic mushroom.

Gilbert recalls grumbling those words to her the last time they came here. He hadn't been living in the Seattle area for very long, and hadn't yet learned to appreciate its beauty. She'd only laughed him, grinning ear to ear, insisting, _"Someday, you'll think it's beautiful."_

He'd squeezed her hand. _"It could never compare to you."_

Gilbert grits his teeth, kicking angrily at a clod of dirt. The cold dewdrops sting his ankles. What bittersweet memories these little droplets bring with them. A flavor he know all too well, but one that still befuddles him, for it is the only thing that can send another familiar sting, this one to his olive-gold eyes.

"You are not that little kid anymore!" he hisses to himself, blinking away the heavy salt tears. There was no time to cry. He's all grown up, three jobs, other responsibilities... remembering he was currently searching for one of those responsibilities, he checks the time. 6:26 AM. At this rate, he'd miss his bus unless he picked up the pace. No doubt Reim would be furious, but it couldn't be helped. Gilbert knows he's the only one Vincent has in the world. No matter what awful things his brother does, Gilbert must take care of him.

Sighing irritably, he ruffles his stringly black hair and gets moving. He figures the sooner he starts looking, the better the odds were of finding Vincent. He could be passed out anywhere, or worse, in more serious trouble...

Just as the sickening thoughts of Vincent's dual-colored gaze narrowing as he assessed a dismembered officer began to overtake him, Gilbert notices something alongside him. A sky-blue object he recognizes all too well, red and blue lights flashing.

He freezes. At this point, his concern for his brother is discarded, replaced by concern for himself. Gilbert doesn't have a great reputation with the boys in blue, and another arrest could tarnish his record to a point of no return. The thought of crawling into Vincent's underground world and work to support them that way sends shivers along his spine.

But this isn't the only reason he stand petrified. The police cruiser is right beside him—_in the midst of the grassy field._ If that isn't an indication for arrest, Gilbert doesn't know what is.

Trembing, he spreads his hands, raising them slowly like a bandit caught in the act. "P-please... don't shoot...!"

At first, there is silence. The silhouette of the police officer behind the wheel doesn't even seem to breathe.

And then the laughter cosumes him.

Gilbert blinks, lowering his hands. "E-eh?"

The squad car shudders with the force of the officer's chuckles. He slaps the dash a few times, trying to get a hold o himself. Once his giggles subside, he motions to Gilbert. "Come here, Gilbert Nightray."

Obediently, Gilbert shuffles over to the open passenger's window, stooping slightly to check out this strange policeman. "How did you know my name? There's not another warrant out for for me, is there?"

The policeman grins artificially at him. "Stop being so uptight, would youuuu~?" He gestures to the seat next to him. "You want a ride?"

Gilbert considers the cop. He is a pretty freaky-looking guy. The translucent vampire skin is weird enough, but the officer has lavender-hued hair that completely covers the left side of his face. The one visible eye that blinks lazily at him is... red!? Not to mention his odd—dare Gilbert think, _stalker_—behavior that landed this crazy cop next to him in the field. The again, he is a policeman, someone who's generally used to getting his way.

Looking away from the man, Gilbert shoots a determined gaze across the park. Vincent is a grown man now, too. Perhaps one that parties like a teenager, but one nonetheless. This time, it was his own responsibility to get home.

Focusing his attention back on the policeman, Gilbert stiffly opens the door to the cruiser and gets in. As he straps himself in, he asks, "Really, how did you know my name?"

The odd officer pouts. "Have you really forgotten me? I guess it his been a while, ten years at least..." He sighs, shifting the car into drive. "My name is Xerxes Break. Officer Break to most, but if you want to get real friendly you can call me Break~."

Gilbert thinks hard for a moment, but still draws a blank. "Sorry, I still can't remember..."

"The Ozette case," Officer Break states, each word frostier than a winter's night.

Gilbert's hand snags in his raven-black hair. He's aware of his heartbeat, a panicked flurry of motion cradled in his ribcage like a trapped hummingbird. Colors swim before his widened eyes, a pyschadelic vortex sucking him in. Her name echoes indefinately in his ears, filling his heart with the terror and dread of that horrible night... _Ozette... Ozette..._

"It's a cold case now," Break says. "We haven't had any new leads for years. Most on the force assume the worst."

"She's not dead!" Gilbert shouts suddenly. "She can't be... I..."

Officer Break nods solemnly. "And there are some of us who believe she's still alive, myself and Sharon included."

"Sharon...?"

"You may know her as Detective Rainsworth."

That did ring a bell for Gilbert. The woman on the case had been the beauty of the team that no man could seem to keep his eyes off of. With the waterfall of caramel hair, crystalline pink orbs and a nice figure to offset her youthful face, it was hard not to be distracted. But if she caught you staring... you were a dead man for sure.

Seeing the realization in his eyes, Officer Break puffs out his cheeks in annoyance. "Of course, you'd remember the pretty girl..."

"You really don't think she's dead?" Gilbert asks desperately.

The cop blinks. "No, we don't. Based on your testimony, whoever came for her didn't kill her immeadiately, and there was no trace of her blood at the scene, only yours. We think they need her for something else, so they've kept her alive and holed up somewhere."

Gilbert swallows past the lump in his throat. "And... you don't believe I did it?"

The officer chuckles. "On the contrary. You're one of the victims, aren't you?"

Gilbert puts a hand to his shoulder, right where the scar begins and races in an arc to his abdomen. He knows he got the scar that night, but how he got it and what happened afterwards... that's all still fuzzy. Even if he could remember, he doubts the police force would believe his story; Ozette's father insists that she and Gilbert's relationship was completely behind his back and without his consent, not to mention likely abusive and toxic considering Gilbert's family. It was true that Ozette never told her father about them, but that was because Ozette's father refused to even look at her, insisting she wasn't the child he had wanted. She and her sister were raised by their uncle Oscar, who cared for them immensely. Oscar had loved Gilbert too; he'd treated the raven-haired boy like a son, inviting him to stay at their house whenever he wished. Those had been such happy times, and Gilbert misses them more than anything, but Ozette's disappearance had torn them apart. And of course, the police believe Ozette's father, Zai's testimony above Gilbert's. The Nightrays have always been a family of criminals, so why should he be any different?

But... this weird officer, Break... he believes him. And that gives Gilbert hope.

Officer Break pounds the steering wheel impatiently with his palms. "Well~? Where can I take you, Mr. Nightray?"

"I work at the West Seattle library."

The policeman nods. "You got it~."

As the cruiser takes off, Gilbert does something he hasn't done in a while.

He smiles.


End file.
